The Lesson (16 page)

It means Martin was right. It means you’re
not over him. It means you’re still in love with him.

It means I’m a fool.

Perhaps. But it seems like once upon a time
Nonno Joe told you that life wasn’t worth living without love. I
think you’re so afraid of getting hurt, you forgot about living.
What would Nonno think of you now?

I thought you were pushing me to stay the
hell away from Mason. Weren’t you constantly warning me against him
and letting him back into my life? What have we been arguing about
for the last week?

Silly girl, I AM you. The only person you’re
arguing with is yourself.

As the revelation struck her, the voice fell
silent and then Bianca’s door opened. Mason held out a hand to help
her out of the car.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she climbed out
and tried to imagine what her grandfather would think of the life
she’d made for herself.

He would be sad for
you,
she realized. Moreover, she realized she was sad
for herself. Six years of isolation, all leading up to one of the
most humiliating moments of her life. She still had a hard time
believing she had called Martin the wrong name while in the throes
of passion.

And now, realizing she’d spent six years
trying to simultaneously talk herself in and out of love with
Mason, she knew the only thing holding her back was her own fear.
She knew she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life being
afraid, and she also knew it was time to let go.

The only question left was what would happen
when she did? Would Mason become her past and Martin her future? Or
would she start a new future with Mason?

Mason placed his hand on the small of her
back and led her down the sidewalk. “It’s a couple blocks away. I
hope you don’t mind walking.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I don’t mind.
It’s a nice evening.”

He smiled. “It’s a wonderful evening. One of
the best I can remember, and I’m so excited you’re here.” He shook
his head a little. “Enough about me, tell me about your trip.”

“I work for Montoya Healthcare,” she told
him. “I was hired as an administrative assistant about three years
ago. It’s been a good job, and I’ve been biding my time, waiting to
move up the ladder. I knew it wouldn’t happen soon, but with all
the recent changes to healthcare, the company has had to create a
new department designed to handle clients with preexisting
conditions. My boss, Martin, was assigned as the executive director
for the new department, and he offered me the position of assistant
director.”

“That’s wonderful,” Mason declared, his eyes
sparkling as he looked down at her. “I’m sure he made the right
choice, and I have no doubt you’ll be wonderful in the new
position. I imagine it’s a huge bump in responsibility and
pay.”

She nodded. “It’s an amazing opportunity. I
still can’t believe it. Anyway, part of my job will be to oversee
negotiations with doctors, hospitals, pharmaceutical companies and
so forth. He asked me to attend a yearly conference they throw in
Vegas. It was a chance to learn more about what I’ll be doing,
networking, and beginning negotiations.” She laughed lightly. “I’m
sure this is all very dull to you.”

“Nothing about you or what you do is dull to
me,” he responded with warmth. “I’m fascinated with everything
about you.”

Bianca flushed and tried to redirect the
conversation. “What about you?” she asked faintly. “Which branch of
Freeman Industries are you working in?”

“Ah ah,” he shook a finger at her as he
paused on the sidewalk. “No time for that now. We’re here.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Bianca looked up at the well-lit building in
front of them. The finely tooled letters on the window read ‘The
Lali Renaldo Gallery.’

She glanced at Mason, her brow wrinkled. “An
art gallery? Did you keep painting?”

He took her hand in his. “You’ll see,” he
told her mysteriously, opening the door and leading her in.

There was a small reception station in the
same discreet white as the walls near the front door, and a pretty
blonde girl greeted them with a smile as they walked in. Mason
nodded at her as he led Bianca deeper into the gallery.

There was no one in the building except a
few employees and they only glanced at Mason and Bianca as they
walked through the main room where caterers were setting up a bar.
Climbing a small set of stairs, they entered the next room.

Mason lifted a hand and gestured toward a
wall. “This is what I wanted to show you,” he murmured, his eyes
intent on hers.

Bianca looked at him for only a moment
before she stepped closer and began to examine the paintings on the
wall.

It was a series of paintings,
impressionistic pieces done in bold colors and slashing lines. The
first showed a young boy in the short pants of a school uniform.
His face was turned, soft chocolate locks obscuring his face, his
arms hanging at his sides and his hands clenched in tight little
fists. A small card beneath it read ‘Youth in Chaos.’

The next image was an aerial view of a youth
surrounded by faceless beauties, their creamy limbs intertwined and
draped over him. He stared straight up, the shadows around his eyes
and the expression on his face evoked a sense of loneliness as
Bianca studied it. The title card reading ‘Solitary Confinement’
confirmed her assessment.

The next was a portrait of the same youth,
now a man. He stood gazing straight forward, his chest bare and
emaciated while his haunted eyes screamed silently, his pain almost
leaping off the canvas. The title read ‘First Love.’

The next showed a man curled up, a hand
covering his eyes, only his lips twisted in grief showing. This one
was titled ‘Revelations.’

Bianca moved on to the next, the same
bare-chested man, this time his head turned to the side, his mouth
open as though calling out to someone, one hand reaching out to
touch something, or someone, out of sight. This portrait was titled
‘Lessons.’

The final painting in the series was the
back of a man, his head flung back and arms lifted in supplication.
Bold colors slashed across the canvas, accentuating his shoulder
blades and muscles, giving the painting a sense of hope. The title
read ‘Letting Go.’

Bianca turned to look at Mason for the first
time since she’d began studying the paintings. “They’re all you,”
she breathed, fighting back tears. “Oh, Mason, they’re beautiful. I
can’t believe you painted all of these.”

He studied the paintings for a moment. “I
call this series ‘The Evolution of a Boy,’” he told her. “And
you’re right, they’re all me.”

“When did you do all this?” she asked, the
paintings drawing her gaze again. “This is your show, isn’t it? You
have your own exhibition, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he let out a shuddering sigh. “I
started working on this oh, about five years ago. But we’re getting
ahead of ourselves. It was important to me that you saw this
series, but there’s another one I want to show you as well. Come,”
he held out his hand for hers and led her to the next room.

Walking through a pale archway, they entered
another room, this one smaller and clearly reserved for the entire
series.

He leaned over and when he spoke, his warmth
breath fluttered across Bianca’s cheek. “I call this series
‘Redemption,’” he whispered.

Bianca shivered as she lifted her eyes to
the first painting, gasping when she recognized it.

It was the painting of Bianca lying in bed
with a white sheet wrapped around her. She still wore the same
dreamy expression as before, her head haloed in curls, but her
breasts were no longer bared. He had covered both of them with the
sheet. The title read ‘Innocence.’

The next image was an aerial view of her
lying in bed alone, a white sheet pulled up over her body, the
folds beneath her resembling snowy wings. The sheet accentuated
every curve of her body, one knee slightly bent, and her arms were
outstretched. Her eyes were closed and her head thrown back as her
open mouth hinted at delightful secrets. The card beneath it read
‘Shadows of Paradise.’

Bianca moved onto the next piece, this one a
close up of her face and torso, her brow wrinkled while shadows
slashed across her face. One hand lifted a champagne flute as if to
conceal her mouth, but the clear glass did nothing to hide the fact
that her lips were twisted in a sad bow of a frown. The title card
read ‘Eating the Fruit.’

The next painting showed her crouched on a
white backdrop, hair tumbling down her back, a black dress with
thin straps flowing down her body and riding high on one thigh. Her
hands lay on the ground next to her, her palms turned upward, her
face a study of loss as she looked up. Her eyes were luminous with
unshed tears. “’Fallen Angel,’” she whispered, reading the card
beneath.

The fifth painting showed her lying naked on
a dark background, curled in a fetal position. One hand spread
across her face while the other concealing her breasts as her thick
curls spiraled out around her head, and her body was shadowed in
crimson and gold. The title read ‘Rebirth,’ and Bianca had to
resist the urge to reach out and touch the image.

The final painting was a study of two
lovers, their arms and legs strategically placed to hide their
genitalia. They lay facing each other, the woman with her eyes
closed and a hint of a smile on her face. The man, however, had his
eyes wide open as he gazed upon her with unmistakable love and
longing. Bianca’s eyes dropped to the card to read the title.
“Rapture,” she whispered, and found the tears she’d been fighting
had won as several slipped down her cheeks.

“Please don’t cry,” Mason whispered,
reaching out to wipe them away. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so
long how sorry I was. I wanted you to know I’ve changed, but I knew
I couldn’t tell you. I knew I had to show you.”

“How … when …” her lips trembled as she
gazed up at him.

“After I left you that horrible night, I
went back to the party.” He shook his head as he remembered. “I got
rip roaring drunk, too. I’ve never seen my old man so pissed. It
was one thing to make a fool of myself at school, but entirely
another to do it in front of his friends and clients.”

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I didn’t
care. All I cared about was that I’d lost you. I tried calling you
a couple times, but you were true to your word and didn’t take my
calls. I dropped out of PSU a couple weeks later, although it
hardly mattered as I hadn’t gone to classes since you kicked me out
of your house.”

“I always wondered why I never saw you at
school again.”

“I couldn’t face you,” he shrugged. “I was
too ashamed to look you in the eye. Anyway, after I dropped out, I
stayed drunk for about six months until my parents demanded I go
back to school or they’d cut me off.”

“What did you do?” Bianca asked, her eyes
wide as she listened to his story.

His lips clenched for a moment. “Called my
father a son of a bitch and took off to New York to party with some
of my old frat brothers. I figured I’d call their bluff.”

“And?”

He barked a harsh, humorless laugh. “It was
an empty threat. They should have cut me off, but it would have
been unseemly for a Freeman to live in the gutter. I spent another
six months in a bottle. And worse.” He shuddered.

“One morning I woke up in a strange bed,
with several strange women, in the middle of a strange apartment.
My buddies were all passed out around the apartment, the coffee
table covered in empty liquor bottles, ashtrays and cocaine. I
didn’t remember a goddamn thing and all I knew was I had to get out
of there before I completely lost my shit.” He shook his head.
“When I got back to the hotel I was living in and looked in the
mirror, I didn’t even recognize myself. The image still haunts me,”
he told her, massaging his temple.

“That’s when I realized I hated everything
about myself and my life. I knew I’d lost the only person who’d
ever really loved me.” His steady gaze captured hers, drawing her
in. “I picked up the phone to call you, to beg you to take me back,
but something stopped me. I knew I couldn’t jump back into what we
had. I knew I had to prove to you I was worthy. Hell, I had to
prove it to myself.”

He studied the hanging paintings. “I called
my parents and told them I didn’t want any part of Freeman
Industries, I would never want any part of it, and I didn’t want
their money either.” He shook his head. “I told them to get rid of
the apartment, everything in it except my art supplies. I cut up
all my credit cards, sold my car and anything else I had of value
and used the money to rent a studio. It was the last time I spent
my parent’s money.”

“I cleaned up, quit the drinking and drugs,
and got a job,” he flashed her a dry smile. “It took me three
months to get someone to give me a chance, and when I finally did,
it was at some hole-in-the-wall coffee house. Burned the shit out
of myself the first day, but I kept going back and eventually I got
the hang of it. There were a few months I practically starved, but
I kept pushing through. Mornings I worked making that damn coffee,
and evenings I spent painting.”

He reached out and took her hands in his
own. “I spent three and a half years in New York, starving and
painting and learning about art and life. I sold a few paintings,
which helped supplement my income, and when I was ready, I packed
up all my work and everything I owned into a U-Haul and came back
to Portland. That was over a year ago. I still work at a coffee
house,” he told her with a laugh. “It pays for my studio, though,
so I can’t complain. After I got back, I spent most of my spare
time in galleries, getting to know the owners, meeting other
artists, becoming part of the scene. I wanted to contact you but I
promised myself I wouldn’t find you until I had my own exhibit. I
needed to be able to show you I was different.